


Will You Love Me Tomorrow?

by Lily_Padd_23



Category: The West Wing
Genre: A little more sex than I usually write, AU: Vietnam War, Alternate Universe - 1970s, Alternate Universe - Vietnam, But it's part of the emotional arch, Comfort/Angst, Emotional, I Don't Even Know, I'm a 20th Century War Nerd Who Loves These Boys and the idea got in my head and I couldn't shake it, Love Confessions, M/M, Sex, Soft boys are soft, just... yeah, no idea what I was thinking, soft, there is some sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 22:45:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18456146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lily_Padd_23/pseuds/Lily_Padd_23
Summary: A one-shot into an Alternative Universe set a shortly before the fall of Saigon in which Josh and Sam work for the US Embassy in Vietnam.





	Will You Love Me Tomorrow?

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a little sexier than I usually feel comfortable writing. But I got the song in my head, and it's about sex being an expression of love, so that's what I'm trying to work with here. 
> 
> Carole King wrote Will You Love Me Tomorrow? for The Shirelles, but I think I like her recording the best.

Will You Love Me Tomorrow?

By Lily Padd

 

 

  1. A hotel room in Saigon. A Shirrelles record. A little too much ruou gao. Two embassy schmucks.



 

Josh collapsed on Sam’s chest with a breathless moan, thrusting himself into Sam one more time. Sam sunk his teeth into Josh’s shoulder to muffle his screams as he splattered Josh’s stomach. Stacked sweaty chest to sweaty chest, they collected their breathing, legs quaking, as the buzzing in their ears began to give way to the sounds around them: the other’s heavy panting, the sounds of the city at night below, and a door over, someone was playing The White Album.

 

_You say you want a Revolution, well you know,_

_We all want to change the world._

 

Blowing out a puff of hot air, Josh leaned back onto the bed beside Sam. It was a twin, so even side by side, more of their skin was touching than not. Josh stretched out his arms behind his head and let out a deep, throaty sigh before turning to look at Sam. Without a single word, they searched each other’s faces, the glitter in their eyes and the flush still in their cheeks confirming that it had been good. Sam chuckled slightly and Josh asked, suddenly self-conscious, “What?”

“You got a little…” Sam smiled and reached up and rubbed a thumb across Josh’s cheek, “You got a little bit of _me_ on your face there.”

Even though he was completely spent, the fresh memory of Sam’s first climax of the night— the one where Sam had missed his mouth and ended up coming all over his face— somehow managed to elicit a spark of lust in Josh’s chest. As Sam wiped himself from Josh’s cheek, Josh closed his eyes, the smallest moan escaping his lips.

 

_But if you talk about destruction_

_Don’t you know that you can count me out, in._

 

When he had cleaned as much off of Josh as he could, Sam propped his chin on Josh’s shoulder and looked up at him from beneath sleepily, inadvertently sultry lids, whispering, “You good?”

            “Mmm,” Josh purred, “I’m great.” Then after a while, he asked. “You good?”

Sam responded by burying into Josh’s neck and planting soft kisses on his skin. “Hey, Sam, don’t get me all hot and bothered again, I don’t know if I’ve got a third round in me tonight.”

Sam just laughed and concluded with a light peck to Josh’s Adam’s apple, which sent another one of those pangs through him.

 

_Don’t know it’s gonna be alright?_

_Oh, shoo-be-do-op, oh shoo-be-do-op_

_Don’t you know it’s gonna be alright?_

 

Before this, nothing happened between the two of them.

 

Okay.

 

That was a lie that Josh couldn’t say with a straight face in the very bed they’d been fucking every night for the better part of a week now.

 

But before _that_ , they had simply been best friends.

 

Another lie.

 

There were the sporadic blowjobs underneath embassy stairwells, the not-very-well-concealed hand jobs under tables in loud, filthy bars, and the time they’d stumbled into the bathroom at that sketchy nightclub and frantically rubbed themselves against each other, throbbing, sweaty, and desperate, until they came all over the chipped linoleum.

 

And that was only since they got to Vietnam.

 

Sam lost count of the number of intense make-outs throughout college. For a while, he kept a diligent mental record of all the times their “study sessions” had quickly turned into frantic dry humping on each other’s beds as quickly as they could before a roommate would come back through the door.

 

Those days felt so, so far away now. To both of them. Hiding hickeys, stealing kisses between library shelves after hours, and blasting this very album to drown out their moaning and hysterical laughter.

 

_But if you want money for people with minds that hate_

_All I can tell you is, brother, you have to wait._

_Don’t you know it’s gonna be all right?_

 

So yes, Josh would have to concede, there had always been a sexual element to their relationship. But it had always been a fraction of what they shared together, a release, something they didn’t really have to talk about much, because there were so many other things to talk about.

 

It wasn’t constant, it wasn’t serious. It wasn’t sex, like, _sex_. It was fooling around. A little. Every now and then. It wasn’t the kind of thing where they would ever, _ever_ , have even _contemplated_ spending five nights in a row falling asleep tangled together. It wasn’t anything more than something sneaky and sort of silly, and well, something they just laughed about. Until that night last week: the first time it had gone from playful and pubescent stuff, to heavy, emotional, and well, _ugh_ , the final frontier.

 

That first night, Josh chalked it up to the fact that it was becoming increasingly clear the US wouldn’t be staying in Vietnam much longer, and everything was falling down around them, and the world as they knew it could end any day now.

 

But then, they kept coming back and back and back and back. And the world wasn’t ending, and they were still coming back. Five nights.  

 

What the _fuck_ happened five nights ago?! It was all so much of a blur to Josh now that frankly, he had begun to consider the last five days something that happened _to_ him. Though, that’s not exactly fair because he had been anything but a passive bystander. But really, the whirlwind that was the last five days has swept over Josh without any rhyme or reason or any time to take stock of what was going on. Because in some ways, five nights ago, something _had_ happened _to_ him. Sam had happened to him.

 

 

They hadn’t been drunk because they had come straight from work. It had seemed like a normal day. Well, normal for Saigon in 1975. As they left the embassy together, an orangey-red sunset was splashing across Sam’s skin, making him look even more golden than usual. But Josh tried not think too hard about that. Walking down the sidewalk, Josh was railing about something, as always. Everything was tense and terrible and chaos was closing in. It was the illusion of calm before the storm, and no one really knew exactly what that storm would look like. So Josh was railing. Sam wasn’t offering any responses, so Josh was having both sides of the argument. Until Sam abruptly stopped on the corner. Mid-sentence, Josh swiveled around to see what the problem was, at this point, they were all so on edge that it could have been anything. But Sam was just frozen in place, pupils dilated to almost black behind his aviator-framed glasses. Josh looked over his own shoulder to see what Sam was looking at: a bomb, somebody getting shot, a VC soldier? Then swung back around, having seen nothing out of the ordinary. He opened his mouth to ask Sam what the fuck was going on, but Sam grabbed his arm, hard.

            “Josh,” he said in an intense whisper, “Josh, I want you.”

            “Wh… S-Sam, what are you talking about?” Josh managed.

            “I _need_ you,” Sam said softening a little, a crack of desperate sadness in his voice.

            “What are you _talking_ about?” Josh asked again, meeting Sam’s stare.

            “I’m talking about the hotel two blocks over with the fountain that doesn’t run anymore and the yellow apricot trees,” Sam replied.

            “What about it?” Josh moved his eyes back and forth.

            “I booked us a room,” Sam said pointedly, and Josh felt his breath catch in his throat.

            “Okay,” he said after a moment. He followed Sam to the hotel. He followed Sam into the dingy, green lobby and stood a foot behind him as Sam checked in.

 

 

It was strange. It’s not to say that he never followed Sam. They were both these big personalities, strong leadership types, both of whom had trouble taking no for an answer. But their relationship had a pattern of Sam following Josh’s lead. He’d changed his major after Josh convinced him he talked a lot about politics for an English major. He’d joined some elitist New Englander’s Congressional campaign on a rainy Spring morning when Josh showed up crying, “You gotta come with me to Maryland. Come write for Kennedy. He’s like nothing you’ve ever seen, I swear to God, Sam, he’s the real thing. I think this kid could President some day.”

 

Sam had even followed Josh here. It wasn’t just because of Josh. Not just because of how he felt about Josh, that is. It was because Josh’s judgment on these kinds of things always proved right.

 

Josh had gut instincts while Sam often felt himself turning over options in his head, able to see the merit in all of them. So when Josh was sure about something, like really sure about something, it was always a sign that something was worth doing.

 

Being here, working for the embassy, was the first thing Josh got wrong. Just dead wrong.

 

 

So Josh was following Sam up a winding staircase with moldy carpet, down a shadowy hallway that smelled like cigarettes and orange perfume and rain, and through a squeaky door with the Vietnamese symbol for number 98. They dropped their briefcases on the floor, and Josh looked at him across the suite.

            “Sam…” Josh said, his voice suddenly completely hoarse, “What in God’s name has gotten into you?”

            “I don’t know,” Sam swallowed.

            “Sam,” Josh repeated.

            “We could be out of here any day now,” Sam preached to no one, “I just, I got it in my head that it might be our last chance. I don’t— I don’t know what’s gotten into me. It’s probably just adrenaline and the Rome’s burning sense of urgency masquerading as courage. It might just be that all the bullshit around us has temporarily deprived me of my ability to care about the consequences of anything else, but God damn it, Josh, I’ve loved you for… well, forever. And I want us to have had one night, one night of… of privacy, of intimacy, without having to sneak or hide or rush or look over our shoulders … I don’t know, I need you. I need us to have had one night together. I need us to have this.”

 

Now he looked at Josh for the first time since he had stopped short in the street. Josh stood by the door, his jaw slightly dropped, his eyes firmly locked with Sam’s, which were scanning his face. For a heart-wrenching moment, they stood in complete silence, neither knowing what the other would do.

 

Then, Josh wordlessly began to undo his belt buckle and shift out of his shoes, not breaking eye contact with Sam. He unzipped his pants and let them fall in a puddle around his ankles before wriggling out of his socks and shoes and slowly unbuttoning his over shirt. Sam’s heart thumped as he mirrored Josh in beginning to disrobe. With each garment that dropped on the floor, they moved closer together and towards the bed. When they stood, inches apart in nothing but their dog tags, they paused and reached for each other without words. Holding each other’s forearms, they pressed their faces together and took a few deep breaths.

            _“Sam…”_ Josh murmured in such a quiet tone that Sam wasn’t sure he hadn’t just heard Josh’s thoughts.

 

Josh had never said his name like that before. No one had ever said his name like that before. In just the way he barely said his name, Josh’s voice betrayed his yearning, his lust, his trust, his fear, and his absolute adoration of Sam.

 

And then they were kissing, eyes closed lightly, just lips.

 

But Sam shifted his hips and stepped his foot between Josh’s legs, simultaneously allowing his tongue to press into Josh’s mouth. Josh let out the most incomprehensibly little moan, the equivalent of how he had just said Sam’s name.

 

It made Sam’s heart break and heal all at once.

 

Josh let Sam guide him to fall backwards on to the bed. And Sam fell over him, catching himself with his strong arms on either side of Josh’s face as he deepened their kiss. Josh kissed him too, but essentially, he was sitting back and letting Sam have him.

 

He had never given himself to anyone. Not fully. Not like this. Not even Sam. They’d never really had the chance. It had always just been these frenzied bursts of passion, giggles, and wringing as much as they could out of a five-minute break or an unexpected moment alone. They had never had the chance to be tender. And Josh could not remember a time in his life when he’d been on his back, someone else over him, kissing him, loving him. And as strange as it was, Josh allowed himself to melt into Sam’s control.

 

As Sam kept kissing him and kissing him, Josh slid one hand around Sam’s hip and the other grabbed hold of the muscles in Sam’s arm. Sam deepened the kiss, and Josh tightened his grip on Sam’s arm, involuntarily lifting his body to meet Sam’s. When Josh dropped back down on the mattress, Sam’s hips fell and he wrapped his arms around Josh’s shoulders. With a sloppy kind of grace, they adjusted to their sides, legs and arms intertwined, kisses becoming frantic and toothy and messy. Josh dragged his hands across Sam’s chest, stopping every now and then to take in the sensation. In response, Sam threw his head back, and Josh moved his lips to Sam’s throat. As Josh left bruises across Sam’s neck, Sam began to travel his hands down Josh’s back. He stopped and gripped Josh’s ass firmly, pulling him in even closer, feeling the beginnings of sweat on each other’s skin.

 

At the exact same moment, they each shuddered in the newfound unimaginable closeness, prompting them both to shift and reach for each other. Groaning and pumping, Josh continued sucking and biting at a tingly spot behind Sam’s ear, and Sam burrowed his face in Josh’s neck, breathing heavily, his free hand still squeezed around Josh’s ass.

 

Then, as Josh was just beginning to speed up, Sam was starting to slow down, burning. Josh was too lost to notice until he thought he felt a hesitant finger flicker between him. He ignored it as first, but then Sam did it again, a little harder, a little deeper.

 

That caused him to freeze and pull himself arm’s length from Sam, a deer-in-headlights stare on his face.

 

This was uncharted territory.

 

Sam’s eyes were huge, apologetic but hopeful. Josh just looked at him, unblinking. This next step was never something had ever crossed his mind as being in the realm of possibilities. He never thought Sam would want that. He never thought _he_ would want that. Yet, in that moment, he wanted it. More than anything.

“Josh...” Sam finally said, “I... I don't have to... I can stop… I won’t do anymore…”

Josh nodded vigorously, and beneath his lashes, his eyes pleaded.

“You want me to stop?” Sam quietly implored for clarification. Josh shook his head. “You want me to keep going?”

His voice dry, what came out of his mouth surprised him even more than it surprised Sam; in a quiet, gentle beg, Josh said, “Yes.”

 

Sam blinked at him, unable to move, unsure, and Josh mouthed, _“Please.”_

 

So Sam slowly began to search inside of Josh with his fingers, carefully, quietly. Josh curled his legs a little, and pressed his forehead onto Sam’s. They maintained intense, comforting eye contact as Sam got deeper and deeper.

 

Every now and then, Josh would take a sharp inhale, and Sam would stop moving and twist his eyebrows into a pained expression. But Josh would wordlessly tell him to keep going.

 

He felt strangely Zen, even though it did hurt a little, he was still in that place where he just felt like all he could do was pour himself into Sam, like he was on laughing gas, slowly going under.

 

After a long time of just working and stretching and figuring out Josh’s anatomy, Sam finally withdrew to the little bathroom and returned with a small bottle of hotel lotion. It wasn’t a lot, but they would have to make it work. Josh just lay, almost in the fetal position, stinging and glowing and raw, feeling content to put himself in Sam’s hands.

 

So Sam made love to him from behind, slowly, delicately, clumsily. And Josh lay in a kind of stunned silence, the slight pain and intense pleasure stripping him of words and sound. Sam took him with such care and tenderness that, despite being in the middle of a war zone, Josh realized he had never felt safer.

 

When Sam finished inside him, the sensation of Sam filling him up drove him over the edge and he came into Sam’s palm with a silent scream. As Sam pulled out, an unfamiliar whimper escaped Josh, and Sam rolled him over onto his side other to wrap him in the warmest, deepest embrace he had ever felt.

 

When they caught their breath, Sam moved to be able to look at Josh and noticed him wince in pain as the mattress moved. Their eyes met, and Sam felt tears threatening to spill. Sam whispered, “Are you okay?” Josh nodded, and Sam went on, mortified, “I hurt you.”

Josh shook his head, “It was amazing Sam. You’re so... I’ve never...”

 

He wanted to say he’d never been loved like that, he wanted to say that he never wanted to be loved by anyone else, he wanted to say he would love Sam for eternity, until the world ended and then some. But he was too delirious to form the words, so instead he just whispered, “You’re everything,” and with the last ounce if energy he had left, he managed to stroke Sam’s cheek with his knuckles before they fell asleep in each other's arms.

 

 

The second night, Josh’s world flipped over on its axis yet again when Sam had whispered from the pillow that he wanted to feel Josh inside him. From the second Josh penetrated started to the last pulse of his Earth-shattering finish, it was as if the whole universe had already gone ahead and ended except for the square inches where their skin touched. Sam squirmed beneath Josh eagerly, alternating between giddy crying and bashful laughter telling him over and over again he loved him. Josh couldn’t even say anything, making involuntary noises he’d never even heard himself make, a tight knot in his chest slowly untying.

 

After he finished inside of Sam and had managed to recover his trembling legs, Josh had put on that total smug air of “victory is mine,” that cocky posturing. He gave Sam a firm kiss before disappearing to the bathroom for about ten minutes. When he came back, he strutted back over to Sam, his tongue in his cheek. Sam laughed at him, but Josh grabbed Sam’s face and murmured, “Where were we?”

 

 

Sam had just rolled his eyes at him as he was still doing his strut about the room and even all around the office the next day, puffing out his chest like he’d slain the beast.

 

Sam could have easily been annoyed by his testosterone-fueled swagger, but he actually found it kind of endearing. He knew that it came from a place of pride that was a little different than just a guy pounding his chest that he’d gotten laid. It wasn’t the bravado of a man who had conquered a hot piece of ass. It was the celebration of a man who had conquered something within himself that allowed him the vulnerability to have shared with Sam, something he had never shared with anyone before. He was proud that Sam loved him, proud that Sam let him love him, proud that he was the person Sam had given himself to, proud that he had been able to give himself to Sam. He hadn’t conquered Sam, he had conquered himself. He’d conquered the world.

 

What Sam didn’t know was that when he had gone to the bathroom, Josh had spent the ten minutes sitting on the toilet seat, his hands clasped over his mouth as he wept. He couldn’t remember the last time he cried. He was completely fact-certain Sam had never seen him cry, and moments after letting Josh have him for the first time didn’t seem like a good opportunity to debut the waterworks. Josh’s heart was pounding, and his hands were shaking. He bit into his palm to suppress his sobs. He looked in the mirror and felt like he was looking at a new person. He would never be ale to articulate what Sam letting him inside him meant. But he felt like maybe he had never taken a full breath of air in his life, and now, after tonight, after Sam, he could breathe for the first time. He splashed water on his face until he could cool his tears.

 

 

The rest of the night after that and the nights that followed all sort of bled together. They laughed a lot, drank a little, and were a bit rougher and more playful with each other than they had been the first two times, more like the fits of silliness in the past, only with a lot more bases covered. There were fewer long, poignant gazes, and those nights all sort of starting running together in a blur of passion and laughter.

 

They’d stay up talking and teasing and fooling around long after they were finished. They’d fuck, spend a few hours in the bathtub talking politics, or curled in each other’s laps in the one of the big chairs in front of the grainy black and white television and then go another round or two before one of them would doze off.

 

That fifth night, they had to stop in the middle because Josh’s leg fell asleep. They laughed so hard, it started to seem like sex would be out of the picture. But they didn’t give up, and had two glorious climaxes each before Sam started teasing him about his leg again. In fake outrage, Josh pushed Sam off the bed, and he’d flailed like a cartoon and fallen directly on to his ass. Josh laughed until he snorted, and Sam thought he might piss himself. Feigning shock, Sam stood up and grabbed his glasses and started getting dressed in his undershirt and pants. Josh just sat back with his swelled chest and self-satisfied smirk watching Sam, tongue in cheek. The threadbare t-shirt and worn khakis clung to Sam’s sculpture as the streetlight from outside silhouetted him.

 

_But if you go carrying pictures of Chairman Mao,_

_You ain’t gonna make it with anyone anyhow._

_Don’t you know it’s gonna be all right?_

 

Once he was dressed, Sam moved to the record player and small stack of albums in the dusty bookshelf on the opposite wall. He began browsing the records as Josh got up with a grumble and began to pull on his own undershirt. When he reached for the pair of boxers in the floor he realized they were Sam’s.

 

Something about that.

 

Josh loved that. He loved that Sam had grabbed Josh’s boxers without realizing it. He loved the idea of their intimacies being completely interchangeable, he liked things that made it feel like they were one.

 

Sam loved that, too. Even when he had his back to Josh, he could feel the love washing over him as Josh got dressed.

 

Sam tried not to think too hard about the fact that Josh hadn’t said the words out loud that he had confessed to Josh on their first night together five nights ago. He tried to be more like Josh and listen to that gut instinct that told him he was loved, that security in the knowledge of Josh’s love for him that covered him like a blanket. That covered him like Josh.

 

And yet, he was a classically trained over analyzer. The more he thought about it, the more doubt would yank at his sleeve. He’d stuck his neck out that night to tell Josh he loved him, and every bone of his body felt that love reciprocated in every look, in every sound, in every touch. Josh was Josh. Sam knew Josh. Josh wasn’t gonna wax poetic about his feelings.

 

That first night, Sam had opened up to Josh in the most Sam way he could: a monologue about his love for him. And then Josh turned around and opened himself up to Sam in the least expected way imaginable: he had let Sam inside him. It was something so amazingly emotional for them, and like Sam said to himself over and over, he knew Josh well enough to know that he would never have done that if he didn’t really, really, really love him.

 

But also, Sam was Sam. And he couldn’t help at least a certain level of introspective scrutiny. Of the way the past few nights— after the first— had still had that undeniable connection, that emotional bond they’d never felt with anyone else, and yet their movements together had been more animalistic, more lighthearted, and less like the world was ending tomorrow. Because the world kept not ending tomorrow.

 

And Sam knew that this was the kind of lovemaking, the kind of fucking, of two people so far gone for each other that they could take all that other stuff for granted. That should make him happy. But how could Sam take something for granted that Josh hadn’t even _said?_

 

He was trying to figure out if these nights together felt more like a beginning or an ending.

 

An inevitable conclusion or a new door opening.

 

He knew what he wanted it to be. But he as bad as Josh’s poker face was, there were still things about him that Sam couldn’t always parse out.

 

 

Josh stood up and moved across the room, furling himself around Sam’s back.

            “What are you looking for?” Josh whispered in a scratchy voice in Sam’s ear.

            “What’s to say I’m looking _for_ anything and not just looking?” Sam said, his voice frank and sharp, dry of all the sex still stuck in Josh’s. Josh turned and sat on the chair furthest from Sam in front of the TV, slouching back, still moving as though a cloud of their smells still hung around him.

 

Sam was always so fast to flit from one thing to another. Josh could have taken hours to bask and come out of the afterglow.

 

Sam was like a hummingbird, Josh thought.

 

And he liked that idea.

 

Sitting back, arms stretched out on each arm rest, knees spread wide apart, he stared at the little line of bones poking out along Sam’s spine the way he usually stared at a Mets game. The way Sam moved when he wasn’t even trying to be sexy was a better show than anything on any TV.

 

Sam was only partly aware of Josh’s eyes on him as he leafed through the records. He stopped at a Shirelles single that flashed the memory of a crowded dance hall going wild when “Boys” came over the stereo. He grinned. He hadn’t had anyone to dance with that night. But now, he determined that vengeance for being pushed out of the bed was a dish best served in the form of the shag.

 

He tugged the record out of its faded case. He flipped it back and forth in his hands to figure out which side it was on and crossed to the little record player and set it up, the grin not leaving his face. As “Boys” started playing, Sam turned around to face Josh.

_I been told when a boy kiss a girl_

_She takes a trip around the world, yeah-yeah. Hey-hey_

 

Sam clapped his hands, his tongue poked out mischievously, and he said, “C’mon, Josh, you remember how to do the shag dance, don’t you?”

Josh raised his eyebrows, “You want me _shag?”_ Sam began to playfully move his hips and three-step to the music.

  
_Mama says, when you kiss my lips_

_I get a thrill through my fingertips, yeah-yeah! Shop, shoo-bop!_

  
Josh looked away and snorted. Sam moved over to his chair and reached out his hands. At first, Josh gave him an over-my-dead-body glare, but Sam’s dancing just got goofier and goofier, forcing Josh to crack, allowing Sam to tug him on to the carpet.

 

_Well, I'm talkin’ ‘bout boys!_

_Don’t ya know I mean boys?_

 

Reluctantly, Josh tried to match Sam’s movements, stumbling over the three step as the trumpets blasted behind them. Sam anchored him with a hand on his shoulder and simplified his steps so Josh could keep up. Sam laughed gleefully as Josh began to get the hang of it, “Look at you!”

“Yeah, yeah boys!” Josh sang along with the back up singers, a smile slipping onto his face as he let Sam lead him around the room. They stepped on each other's feet a lot, and Josh maintained that dad-dancing overbite while Sam bop-shoo-opped along with the record.

  
_Well, I'm talkin’ ‘bout boys!_

_What a bundle of joys!_

  
The song faded out, and they fell into an out of breath hug through a fit of laughter. As they composed themselves, the record player made a churning noise as it switched to the A-side of the single, and the first strident violin notes of “Will You Love Me Tomorrow?” began to play. With no more acknowledgement than a quick smile, they took hands and began to sway in place to the slower song.

_Tonight you’re mine, completely_

_You give your love so sweetly_

_Tonight the light of love is in your eyes_

_But will you love me tomorrow?_

 

Dog tags pressed together, they pulled closer against each other, and Sam nestled his chin onto Josh’s shoulder with a long exhale. Josh absentmindedly began rubbing his hands up and down the back of Sam’s t-shirt, closing his eyes and letting tension out of his chest he hadn’t even known was there.

 

_Is this a lasting treasure,_

_Or just a moment's pleasure?_

_Can I believe the magic in your sighs?_

_Will you still love me tomorrow?_

 

Josh felt something wet on his shoulder blade and heard the tiniest sniffle in his ear. He opened his eyes and shifted a glance down at Sam, trying to get a look at his face.

 

Then he felt Sam’s face tremble against his neck, and he pulled away to see that Sam was crying. Josh’s hands flew to cup Sam’s cheeks and wipe away the tears with his fingertips. His brow furrowed, he searched Sam’s watery eyes, which took a moment to meet Josh’s. When they did, the song reached its bridge, and Sam held his gaze strongly, despite the tears still streaming down his face.

 

_Tonight with words unspoken_

_You say that I’m the only one_

_But will my heart be broken_

_When the night meets the morning sun?_

 

  
Josh pulled Sam back into him, kissing his hair as a gentle “shh” came from his lips. Sam’s hands were crumpled between them as he wept softly, splotching Josh’s t-shirt.

“Sam, Sam, baby... Sam,” Josh was breathing as the song completed behind them.

 

_I'd like to know that your love_

_Is a love I can be sure of_

_So tell me now and I won't ask again_

_Will you still love me tomorrow?_

 

“Yeah, Sam,” Josh murmured over the lyrics, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m gonna love you, Sam.” He wrapped his arms around Sam even tighter, and lulled under his breath, just into Sam’s ear, “Yeah... oh, Sam, baby…Shhhh, sweet, sweet Sam. Yes... yes, yes.”

  
_So tell me now and I won't ask again_ _  
Will you still love me tomorrow?_

**Author's Note:**

> Josh and Sam are not mine and neither are the songs.
> 
> I’m not exactly sure where this came from. I think the episode with Leo’s war flashbacks, plus seeing the national tour of Miss Saigon. 
> 
> Anyway, I didn’t ever think I’d write an AU, but here we are. I dabbled. I don’t know if I will ever dabble in it again, but honestly, when I’m not writing about these two, I’m writing historical fiction, so I’m not ruling it out were anybody to be remotely interested in seeing more. 
> 
> Pretty tonally different than what I normally write, so…. * shrugs * I’m a little out of my element here? Let me know your thoughts so I can keep learning.


End file.
